A Phone Call Away
by masked-spangler
Summary: Giles writes a series of letters to his sister.
1. Prologue

Timeline note: Post-Series

Dearest Madeleine,

Received your email this morning, and was delighted to hear that you and the children are settling in okay after the move. I had been anxious when I heard the weather reports---it must have been treacherous driving in snow again, and with children, too. It took even me some time to get my bearings back when I returned home, and I only had myself to worry about. Are the boys enjoying the countryside? I hope they don't find your little town too sleepy, but I am certain there are perhaps a few children equally as high-spirited, even in your tiny village!

Just remember, dear heart, that London is not so far away as America was, and that my business, while perhaps at times more pressing than most other men could claim, is still only business. And I have myself an army now---there is no apocalypse so big that I can't hand it off to someone if my baby sister needs me. It's only been six months since Roger died, and before you get histrionic about ME again, I'll tell you that I've already had half a dozen shamans in to check my security protocols. They assure me that even the devil himself could not break into our new headquarters, which is good to know as he will certainly one day try. So be at peace, Madeleine. I shan't leave my fatherless nephews without their uncle too.

And before Mother starts in on you again about it, you can tell her that I am not entirely sure I plan to stay with this council thing forever. Yes, I know, there is still quite a bit of work to be done. Slayers to find, slayers to train…I certainly cannot abandon the world to its fate just because I'm feeling a tiny bit of middle-age ennui. All the same---it IS the 21st century, and they do have ways to automate these things. And unlike the old days, I have an executive I can trust this time. Some of them have gone a little wanderlust-crazy now that they aren't tied to the hellmouth anymore, but I'm seeing signs they're settling--Buffy is still cavorting about in Rome, but she's enrolled Dawn in school. And while Kennedy could probably go on forever tearing a drunken swath through the night clubs of Rio, I am not entirely certain Willow could. She's due back here next month for a check-up with the coven---that was one of the conditions they set when they agreed to help her. She's already excitedly chattering about "quality time" with me, which, although possibly involving more ice cream than I'd prefer, is actually sounding rather nice.

I know, I know, they sound exotic enough to you already without you picturing them mucking about all over Europe, Africa and Central America. But there are slayers in all of those places now, slayers everywhere. Be glad you have boys, Madeleine. Perhaps I'll have washed my hands of the whole thing by the time they'd be old enough to get ensnared. On the other hand, I do have mixed feelings about that approach too. I did warn you I've been melancholy of late. Is it better to keep them innocent? Or is it better to tell them look, there really ARE monsters, and they can hurt you, but that you just might be strong enough to defend yourself? There is a danger now of becoming complacent. The council and their slayer army will take care of that. Surely with all the slayers running about out there, we'll never be TOO far away from one. Well, Madeleine, let me tell you that even a force of denial as powerful as Mother cannot make that true. There are still black holes. There are still villains and there are still heroes, and there are still ordinary people with greatness in themselves they have not yet tested. It is not all about magic and power and destiny, it never was.

Did I ever tell you about Andrew? He's done some unfortunate things, more from foolishness and lack of spine than anything. I did not tolerate him well for quite some time. Then all the others left, and there he was, still there, still trying to prove that he could be the hero, that he was sorry, that he was trying to atone. He'd spent the night in my guest room a few times, same as the others had, when there was business to attend to and he was an able body with half a brain. One night, I caught him mucking around with Xander's dvd collection, replaying over and over again the climactic scene in that war film Spielberg did---the dying hero, clutching the arm of the one he saved, urging "Earn this, earn this" with his last breath. I think he hears Anya's voice when he watches that. I think she haunts him. I think she forgives him, too, for whatever his sins must be, but I would never tell him that. He has a higher purpose this way, doesn't he?

I know, I know, that didn't get ME very far, did it? If it's so wonderful to have a higher purpose, why have I been so gloomy of late? Well, Madeleine, I've been thinking about that. And I'm not entirely sure. I am a good man. I am an honest man. I never strayed far from my principles. But perhaps I strayed a little TOO far from my joys? At what point does the one the hero saves stop "earning" it? At what point can he say this, I do for me and not for you? Is every good that Andrew achieves on Anya's karmic tally and not his own? Is every good that I achieve on you, on Roger, on the boys?

The lonely bachelor. The favored uncle. Did you ever think I would be those things? Perhaps Father was right and a man can never be a man when he spends his time dwelling on girls half his age. But then, he never had an active slayer, did he? He never experienced the connection, the toll, the grief…he WAS right after all, but for all the wrong reasons. In the end, it wasn't the girl, or the girls who did me in. It was the evil. It was the demons. It was the realization that even with power, even with greatness, even with magic, you'll still sometimes hurt, still sometimes lose. And that is entirely a different sort of emasculation, isn't it?

I think, being away so long (and don't tell me America was just a phone call away, you know it wasn't the same) I did lose my grounding some, and it will take me time to get it back again. I could never talk with anyone the way I talk with you, Madeleine. I've missed having that, and I'm glad you'll be so close by again. Once the roads are cleared, perhaps I'll take a weekend and drive up to see you and the boys. You can make me a pot of strong tea and a mincemeat pie and some pudding, and remind me that there are still women I love who are not dead or magic or predestined, and that there are boys still young and innocent and worth saving the world for. You can remind me that sentiment is not a bad thing and that destiny took away some people I cared for, but gave me you.

You mustn't fret about me, dear heart. Just focus on yourself and on the children, and I'll be up there as soon as I am able, to check on you. And when you speak to Mother again, tell her it was good of her to ask of me.

With love,

Rupert


	2. Chapter 1

Timeline note: Post-Welcome to the Hellmouth

Dearest Madeleine,

Received your letter yesterday and wanted to check in with you and see how things are going. I regret that I have not been as available this week, but with classes starting up again and my slayer finally arriving, I have not had a moment's peace.

She is a difficult one, that girl, and I'm not entirely sure we've bonded well enough yet that I can say that affectionately. I was prepared for a little spunk, a little modern sensibility. I had of course read Merrick's account of his struggles to train a slayer who had gone unnoticed by the council, and was ignorant of her calling. But I trusted that in the months before his death, he had made some progress. That, traumatic as his death must surely have been for her, it had further impressed upon her the need for a protector such as herself. Instead, I find it has produced the opposite effect---she had all but renounced her calling, and had not trained a day in the weeks since!

Though I have made some progress already in the latter regard, I find that I am more impatient with her than I had planned, that uncle-ing a two-year-old has not prepared me quite as well as I thought it had for being an authority figure with someone who aims to do their own thing. I keep reminding myself that there is much that girl doesn't yet understand about the forces at work here: the council, and their machinations to get her---to get ME---in place on the hellmouth, the delicate cosmic forces at work on good, on evil…I haven't even started her on any of that sticky business with the books of prophecies yet. She has thus far conceded to the fact of the hellmouth, and when confronted with vampires, she is at the very least staking them. But beyond that, she has little interest in furthering her education as a slayer.

I am further chagrined by this stubborn insistence she seems to have on the necessity of leading a "normal" life in spite of and in addition to the one mandated by her calling. She trains, she patrols, she attends school and presumably has responsibilities where her grades are concerned, and yet she attempts a social life on top of it. When does the girl sleep? Is it fair to deprive her of the human contact she so obviously needs? But at the same time, is it fair to permit these behaviours even if it leaves her under-rested? The hellmouth makes this tougher here---vampires are stronger, demons are meaner…there is no room at all for an off-night. A mistake could kill her, or worse. And hers is not always going to be the only life at stake here.

It ahs been mandated for so long that the watcher will be the slayer's sole support, that she hunt in secret, that the gravity of her calling necessitates that sacrifice. But if this girl's "modern" sensibility is indicative of where things are at these days, perhaps that's not enough anymore. Perhaps it never WAS enough. Can we know for certain that if slayers past had mothers, friends, communities, they might not have fought harder, tried harder, lived longer? The friends my slayer has seem just as devoted to her calling as she is. Now that they know what's out there, they feel compelled to not sit idly back. Might they not be useful? Might they not be trained to research, trained to aid?

I have no answers, Madeleine. They are good kids, honest kids, the hope of the future. Am I prepared to gamble with their lives as well as hers? I find that in light of your recent news, I can't help but spare a thought for their mothers. If it was Colin involved, or your unborn child, would I be less inclined to waffle? Would I be more inclined to say you CAN sit idly back, because we are sufficient to protect you? And would I really believe such a fiction? Would I really believe that one girl in all the world is really enough, that ONE MAN in all the world would really be enough to guide her?

And just what sort of slayer really would be most effective? The council's version, the docile lone wolf? Or my slayer's version, with friends, with love, with a life worth fighting for? All these years, I've had Mother in my ear going up against the council's wishes. You CAN have a life. You SHOULD have a life. Going up against everything I was ever taught was right, was proper, was keeping me alive. If it should turn out now that she may have been right all along…

I fear it's already affecting me. You see how I am already starting to doubt, starting to confuse. Can we really have it all, a life and a destiny? One area must surely be compromised by the attention the other receives. How to set those boundaries? How to keep things in line? Ironic, in a way, that it should be now you spring your little announcement on me. You and Roger went through these same questions when Colin was born, the same fears, the same decisions, the same fine balance between your life before, and your life now, between your love and your responsibilities. But then, there are two of you, aren't there, and here, there is only me…

Dear heart, my head is spinning, and I fear that I shall never sort it out. Perhaps if I was not so very alone out here…

But enough of that, I'm to be an uncle again. That's happy news. Send my regards to Roger, and hugs and kisses to my little man.

With love,

Rupert


End file.
